A Study of Crutchie
by Harthad
Summary: Several one-shot prompts involving Crutchie, by me.
1. The Lost Hat

"Robbery on 53rd, thousands taken!" Crutchie hawked as he limped through the blustery streets of New York City. A little harp couldn't hurt anyone, especially when the 'thousands taken' had been candy….and paid for, anyways. He squinted up into the sun, trying to see. He reached up a grubby hand for his hat, but only found—his hair. Crutchie stopped, and peered over his shoulder. He hadn't felt his hat fall off. Maybe he had left it at the Lodging House? But that wasn't likely. He turned around again, limping forward along the dusty road as he threw glances this way and that, all to find his hat. The musty green would have stuck out in the crowd of rich New Yorkers, he figured. Crutchie took another look over his shoulder, deciding to take the turn and look for it on 42nd. But then again, he hadn't been to Grand Central that day. Crutchie took another turn, looking around the side of a brick building before he limped out again.

The squawking and fluttering of chickens raced after Crutchie as he quickly hopped out from a dead end—at least his hat was the only thing that hadn't gotten egg whites on it—but that was mainly because he hadn't found it yet. He quickly slid his crutch back under his arm, resting comfortably on the cloth covered ledge. He shot a swift glare at the chickens, lunging towards them and scattering the birds. Crutchie gave a small chuckle at the sight of all the birds flying away—but then remembered what he was doing here. He turned, going out into the streets once more.

"What'sa matter, kid?" was Jack's first question as Crutchie limped into the Lodging House, closing the door behind him. "I lost my hat," he said to the door with a shake of his head, and then turned around, limping over to the tattered couch.

"What, ya mean this one?" Crutchie took a look over his shoulder, recognizing the green fabric in Jack's hand. He grinned, and went over to take it from his friend. He stuck it backwards securely on his head, nodding importantly. "Thanks, Jack," he spat on his hand, and extended it to Jack as he looked up into Jack's eyes with a cheerful glint. His outstretched hand was rewarded with Jack's firm handshake. "Any time, kid."

Crutchie cracked a smile, looking over to the wall. "Not that often, I 'ope."


	2. Rain

Crutchie looked up to the looming rain clouds on the horizon as he quickly stuffed his papers back in his bag. The rain started falling down from the skies as he went to seek shelter underneath the awning of a food cart. That quick trip to safety wasn't enough to stop him from getting at least a bit wet, though. He hadn't expected it to. Pulling his sodden green hat off his head of straw-like blonde hair (which was now sticking up, thanks to the rain), he took it in both hands and started to wring it out, all the while peering up at the storming dark clouds up above. He watched as several New Yorkers dashed inside the comfort of their homes, rushing their children or parents to safety. He watched as lightning struck the sky, and decided it would probably be a good time to get back to the Lodging House just about now. He grabbed his crutch from where it had been leaning against the food stand and slid it under his arm, seeking a reassuring grip on the cloth-covered handle. Crutchie plopped his hat back on, flattening his hair at least somewhat. He limped out into the flurry of water raining down from the high heavens, squinting up into the sky as he refused to look down into the rapidly filling puddles. The crutch sent up a splatter of mud along his drenched clothing as he went on limping a bit faster, trying to reach the Lodging House in time before something worse than lightning and thunder happened. The thought of a warm bed and a pillow spurred him on as Crutchie dodged many people who were hustling and bustling with the same idea. At last, he felt his boot reach the solace of the mud-flecked rain-saturated doorstep of his home, and quickly ducked under the sign. He shook off his crutch and bad leg before heading inside with a wide, water-streaked grin on his face.

"Looks like I was right, fellas! It did rain today!"


	3. The Quarter

"Here you are, boy." The lady winked down at the grubby boy who had recently sold her a newspaper, and swept away. Crutchie examined the coin sitting in his palm, providing a shining stark contrast from the mucky streets looming around him. A wide grin slowly broke out on his face, and he cheerfully stuck the quarter in his pocket, already beginning to appreciate the jingle and jangle of the coin as it swung around in the loose fabric. Already the sun seemed brighter and each newspaper sell a golden opportunity.

But then, when _wasn't_ each sell a golden opportunity?


End file.
